


Spectrophobia

by Morteamore



Series: Kinktober 2020 [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possible Hallucinations, Psychological Drama, allusions to psychological disorders, initial reluctance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: Timothy Lawrence tries to avoid mirrors. But he can't escape them forever, and one fateful night he's forced to face what he sees reflected back at him.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Timothy Lawrence
Series: Kinktober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950712
Kudos: 18





	Spectrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinktober prompts: Mirror/doubles and orgasm control

Timothy Lawrence hated mirrors.

In his living space, he kept only one, which was in the bathroom. Even that he left covered when not in use, only removing said covering when he absolutely needed to.

Right now, the mirror was exposed, his reflection glaring back at him as he brushed his teeth. His scar, as ragged and deep as a crevasse where it bisected his face, stretched in a gruesome display as he opened his mouth for his toothbrush. He watched himself carefully, heterochromatic gaze hardened by concentration, brow strained. He tried to relax his features, tried to look less like _him_. 

Timothy Lawrence hated mirrors, because every single time he looked into one, he felt the hold Handsome Jack still had on his life.

The face in the mirror removed the toothbrush and spat into the sink. It wiped its mouth with the back of its hand and snapped off a thin piece of dental floss from a plastic container. Then it grinned at him, baring teeth that looked sharper than average.

But Tim wasn’t grinning.

“Imagine what I could do to you if this was a proper garrote, Timtams,” his reflection said to him, winding the floss between its fingers. “You remember the good old days, right? You and me, my hands around your throat. Ah, if we could only relive that.”

“ _You_ were the one that enjoyed it,” Tim said to his mirror image, the words barely coming out steady. “I hated it. I hated _you_ , hated being you.”

“Nah, ya see, I think you like saying that a whole lot. But it ain’t the truth. You _loved_ when you were me. You had everything your little heart could’ve desired. Money, sex. Remember Nisha, Timmy? I bet you do. Hell, remember _me_?”

“F-fuck you.”

“Language.”

Hands shaking, Timothy fumbled with the bathroom cabinet, the mirror swinging wide as it opened. His fingers encircled a tall plastic bottle, which he managed to pry open. A handful of white pills spilled out, skittering into the basin of the sink as well as on to the floor. He scrambled to grab them up and put them back into the bottle, palming two of them and swallowing them dry in the process. The cabinet was swung closed. Tim was reluctant to look back up at his reflection, his fingers gripping the sink so hard that his tanned knuckles had gone a pale white. Eventually he chanced it, knowing the pills wouldn’t have an instant effect, but wishing hard that they would. His mirror image stared back at him, matching his movements, not doing anything out of the ordinary. The sigh that emerged from his lungs nearly deflated him. He moved away from the sink, meaning to leave the bathroom.

“Where you going, kitten?” a voice taunted at his back. “Don’t leave now. The fun’s just getting started.” As Tim turned around, his eyes widened. His reflection was pulling free from the mirror, bursting forth from it like some apparition appearing out of thin air. He stumbled back a step, mouth gaping, jaw working, but no sound coming out. “What’s the matter? You think those pills the doc gave you are actually gonna do anything against me? Oh, man, I’ve got some news for you.”

Tim was backed up into the bedroom. The Jack creature from the mirror was dressed identical to himself: in t-shirt and cartoon cat patterned pajama bottoms. It shouldn’t have been menacing, but it absolutely was. Especially with the manic grin plastered on Jack’s face, stretching the edges of his scar. Jack reached out for Tim, grabbing the collar of his shirt with both hands, his large palms traveling upward along the sides of his throat. Fingers clamped down against the flesh, squeezing. As his air was constricted, Timothy struggled, his face flushing red.

“Admit it, Timmy,” Jack said to him. “This used to get you all hot and bothered. You were an animal in bed every time I did it to you.”

Timothy pawed at the hands around his throat. They only seemed to tighten, making him gag.

“I said _admit it_ , cupcake.” Jack’s voice was as rough and uneven as if he had swallowed gravel. “Do it and maybe I’ll let you go.”

It took a heartbeat or two, but eventually Timothy’s head bobbed in admittance.

The hands around his throat tightened. For just a moment, Timothy thought that they weren’t going to release him. But then they fell away. In their wake, marks lined his throat, their glow an angry red. He breathed out hard, panting as he struggled to catch his breath.

Tim, however, did not get long to recuperate. The Jack from the mirror was leaning in, mouth descending. It locked on to Tim’s, tongue unfurling to press between his lips. Arms went around him, holding him tight, close. Tim’s body stiffened where he stood. For a long time, he didn’t move. But then, as the tongue explored the cavern of his mouth, entwined with his, he let out the weakest of sounds; a groan, faint, but distinct. 

_There it is,_ a voice said in his mind, creeping into the nooks and crannies of his psyche, causing him to shiver. _You remember me now, dontcha? All those nights you gave yourself to me willingly. What are you so afraid of?_

They paced backwards together, until the backs of Tim’s knees were hitting the edge of the bed. He sat down hard on the mattress, Jack moving with him. Palms went to Tim’s shoulders, pushing him down. He fell back, catching himself with his hands, letting them slide away as he lay down. Something sharp caught his lip; teeth, tugging at his bottom lip, breaking the skin. His boss had always been so rough when handling him. 

It should have induced panic, made him want to pull away. But Tim didn’t, his hands latching on to the body above him, his lips yearning for more of the taste that graced them. He _did_ remember this, and it had once been desirable, though his yearning for it had fallen away through the years.

Now it seemed to be roaring back, like a rabid animal let loose from its chains. He briefly considered trying to stop it. He’d been so adamant before, took the pills and everything. And now, a mere tickle at his base desires, and he was allowing the floodgates to open again.

Above him, Jack paused, lifting himself up. He stared down at Tim, his expression unreadable. Then he was taking off his shirt, revealing the salt and pepper hair that dusted his chest and trailed down to his groin. Tim reached up, running his hands through it and over Jack’s pectorals, marveling at how exactly alike this creature was to himself.

“I knew you’d like what you see,” Jack said to him. Tim drew his hands away as if burned, but the other man clucked his tongue. “No need to be shy. I won’t judge.”

“I’m not. It’s just…is this real? Are _you_ real?”

“You can touch me, can’t you? We’ve made out like horny ass teenagers. I’m as real as you are.”

“Oh god.” Closing his eyes, Tim took a deep breath and held it in. He opened them as he exhaled, Jack peering at him curiously. “This is the absolute worst.”

There was a snort from Jack. His hands smoothed down Tim’s sides, playing along the slats of his ribs until they reached the hem of his shirt. “Come on, it’s far from the worst. You were enjoying yourself a few moments ago.” Fingers curled in the fabric of said shirt and began to lift it. “I know exactly what you want from me. You can’t hide behind whatever lie you’ve chosen to tell yourself.”

The shirt made it past his abdomen, then chest. Tim found himself lifting his arms for Jack to remove it entirely. He bit his lip, whimpering at the sharp thread of sudden pain as his teeth grazed Jack’s bite mark. Without warning, a hand plunged beneath his pajamas, smoothing over the bulge in his underwear. His hips twitched and a gasp escaped him.

“Sensitive as always, Timtams, and already half hard. Would you like Handsome Jack to take care of that for you?”

It was difficult to even hesitate. “Yes. Please,” Tim said on a rush of breath. 

“Oh, are you actually being direct with me? Finally admitting to yourself how wild my hands could drive you? Is that it, Timmy? Are you being real with me? Real… _heh_ , isn’t that ironic.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean it. I want you. _Please_.”

“And what exactly do you want? What could you possibly be begging me for? I want to hear it from your mouth, cupcake. Go on, tell me.”

Again, there was barely a moment of hesitation. “I want you to fuck me.”

The smile that broke out across Jack’s face was akin to a shark’s. “I think I could oblige you.”

Hands tugged at the waistband of Tim’s pajamas. Jack was attempting to pull them down, scoffing when Tim just laid there. Eventually the other man realized where Jack’s ire was coming from and lifted his hips, Jack yanking the material along Tim’s thighs and eventually over his knees and shins. Tim’s underwear followed, the man groaning softly when the fabric drew along his semi-hard shaft. 

Instead of undressing as well, Jack slid downward like a serpent drawing back to strike. His fist wrapped around the base of Tim’s cock, gripping it in his massive palm.

“But first, let’s get you a little more worked up.”

With that, Jack’s mouth fell to Tim’s groin.

Tim’s own mouth fell open, hanging agape. He couldn’t believe what was unfolding before his eyes. In all his life, Jack had never sucked his dick before, had never even offered. Now the other man’s lips were parted, slipping over his glans like a hand being fit into a snug glove. He could feel Jack sliding down his shaft, languid and taunting, tongue playing along the underside, and he moaned loudly, unable to help himself. Jack’s tongue played him like he was an instrument, undulating and writhing against his velvet flesh, which was hardening even further under its expertise. He could feel himself throbbing in Jack’s mouth, his hips arching up to chase the sensation. 

Tim almost came when Jack looked up and locked gazes with him, whimpering when the sensation rolled up through his groin into his stomach. The other man’s hand tightened on him in response, his mouth pulling off with a quiet _pop_. 

“Not yet, Timmy,” came Jack’s guttural voice. “Not until I let ya.” And he descended again, this time only wrapping his lips around the head, his tongue prodding the slit, running the length of it. He didn’t let up, sucking until his cheeks hollowed. Tim’s hips squirmed as he felt his orgasm rising once more after a few moments. But again Jack pulled off of him, watching him as he panted and whined. “I could do this all night, ya know.”

“Please don’t,” Tim said barely above a whisper. 

Jack seemed to consider it. He let go of Tim and pulled back, inclining his head, gazing at the other man’s naked form as a predator would prey. Then he shrugged one shoulder.

“Alright.”

The look in Tim’s eyes was a pleading one.

Grabbing him by the meat of his thighs, Jack spread Tim’s legs, making the other man gulp.

“Just don’t expect mercy,” Jack said, and moved to push his own pajamas down. 

He was erect, his cock jutting out with proud strain, the head dewy with pre-cum. His length was an exact replica of Tim’s, long and girthy, almost to the point of excess. Tim had never known if Jack had surgically manipulated himself into being well endowed before he’d met him, only that it was probably unlikely, and he’d been made in his image regardless.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Tim,” Jack said, and spit into his hand. He rubbed the saliva into his dick, making it glisten.

“There’s lube in the—”

“Shush. We’re doing things my way.”

Not wanting to argue, Timothy nodded. He watched without protest as Jack lifted him by the ankles and threw his legs over each shoulder. Taking hold of his own cock, he guided himself between Tim’s thighs. Timothy gasped as he felt the head prodding at his entrance, catching on the tight ring of muscle. It was almost gentle, the way Jack nudged at him, his hips making the slightest rocking motion. It lulled Tim into a false sense of relaxation, and when Jack suddenly jerked his hips hard, his cock plunging inside, Tim almost yelped. He could hear Jack snickering at him.

“Come on. It’s not that bad.”

Jack’s girth stretched him, and with just the spit for lube, it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable sensation. Still, it also wasn’t unpleasant, and once Tim’s muscles relaxed, the tension began to ease away. He sighed, his eyes fluttering to half-mast even as Jack drove in deeper.

“That’s better,” Jack said. “It feels good to be back inside you, Tim. Just like it used to be, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” Tim managed to breathe out. “Back when you weren’t such an asshole to me.”

“Heh, you always were a bit of a smart-ass, weren’t you?”

Before Tim could reply, Jack shifted his hips again, pushing himself in all the way this time. The sensation of being so full made Tim cry out, the sound falling on a few rapid breaths. It had been so long since he’d taken anything of significant size. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Jack had probably been the last person he’d slept with. He hadn’t been laid since the man’s untimely demise. He wondered if there was some significance to that, and came to the realization that he didn’t care. 

“What’s on your mind, cupcake?” Jack asked as he rocked inside the other man, his pace slow and lazy. “You look miles away. Which I’d find insulting if I wasn’t enjoying myself so much. Literally.”

Tim’s fingers dug into the sheets briefly as Jack gave a particularly sharp thrust with his hips. “Nothing important.”

“Is that so?” Jack was quiet for a moment, lips twisted in thought. He made another sharp jab with his hips, making Tim groan. “So the fact that you’ve been with nobody since those bandit dickholes offed me, not even your own goddam hand, isn’t important?”

A shudder coursed through Tim’s body. He angled his hips, feeling Jack’s balls press flush to him as the man filled him to the root. “Nope.”

“You know I hate liars, Timothy.”

“Can we not have this discussion while you’re fucking me?”

“Why not?” Picking up his pace, Jack switched to shallow strokes, holding Tim securely. “This may be the only time to talk about it. I mean, I’m here with you tonight. But what about the next night, or the one after that? You haven’t considered the reality of this situation.”

“You don’t even care.”

Jack was quiet for a long time, his breathing audible. “You’re absolutely right, Timtams.” The shark grin was back, the light in Jack’s eyes just as cold. “I don’t.” He grabbed a hold of Timothy’s dick, giving it a few quick pumps. “There’s only one thing I care about here.”

“Yourself,” Timothy said. It wasn’t a question.

“You got it.” Jack emphasized his words by moving his hips even faster, his fist working in tandem with them. 

Back arching off the bed, Timothy was noisy, his own hips jutting to thread his cock through Jack’s palm.

“Oh, shit,” he panted. “I think I’m on the verge again.”

“I said not until I say so.” Where his fingers were tight around Tim’s shaft, Jack lessened the pressure. 

“Goddam it, Jack,” Tim said, throwing his head back against his pillow and growling. 

As soon as Tim said it, Jack’s hand was back to stroking him. Tim’s cock throbbed against the other man’s palm, practically begging for release itself. Just as Tim’s muscles were pulling taut, his teeth clenching, Jack let go again. With a moan of despair, Timothy closed his eyes. A dark chuckle filled the space around them.

“I’d murder you if I didn’t think it would be ineffective,” Tim said through gritted teeth. 

“That’s the spirit. I like it when you’re a spitfire.”

With those words, there was a twitching in Jack’s muscles, his body slamming into Tim’s full force a moment later. He repeated the action, over and over, wrenching an array of vocalizations from the other man. Then he was gasping out, his cock erupting inside Timothy, his warm cum filling him from the inside. As he came, he fisted Tim’s cock hard, fast, and relentlessly. This time, when Tim’s breath became labored and ragged, Jack didn’t let up. With a bellow, Timothy hit his peak, cum spurting from his dick in a great, enormous rush, painting Jack’s hand and his own abdomen and chest white. The stream seemed endless, pulsing out of him with each panting breath. Jack jerked him off through it, wrangling every last drop of semen from him.

“Well, I didn’t give you permission, but that was a wild ride,” Jack said between breaths, leaning down. A moment later his mouth found Tim’s, their lips clashing, tongues following. 

When they pulled apart, they were both quiet for some time. Jack went soft and pulled out, leaving a trail of white that dripped out on to the bed sheets. Tim didn’t seemed perturbed by it, sighing out his content as Jack released him and he melted against the mattress.

“Shit, I needed that,” Tim found himself saying. “For what it’s worth, thanks, Jack.”

“That’s what I’m here for, kitten.”

Timothy’s face twisted into confusion. “What does that mean?”

Stretching out alongside Tim, drawing him close to his body, Jack’s voice dropped an octave. “Maybe if you didn’t hate the mirror so much, you’d know that answer, eh?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t ya worry your head about it. But maybe—and this is just a suggestion—you should consider investing in a few more mirrors around this joint. Just saying.”

There was a snort from Tim as he snuggled into Jack’s embrace. “Never.”

“Suit yourself, then, kiddo.”

XXX

The next morning, Timothy Lawrence stood in front of the bathroom mirror, peering intensely at his reflection. He’d awoken to an empty bed, the only evidence he hadn’t been alone the night before the soiled and rumpled sheets, and his own semen, dried across his body. He gazed into his own eyes, trying to dissociate from himself, detach from the man who stared back at him; anything to repeat the circumstances of the previous night. But nothing happened. It was just that scarred visage staring back at him, one eye opaque and unseeing.

Timothy Lawrence hated mirrors.

He hated them because he saw nothing in them but his ruined self.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. This one turned out more psychological than I initially planned, but I find that stuff always tends to creep in when writing for Timothy. The man just invites deeper psychological exploration. Influences included the albums _This Is Forever_ and _Valleyheart_ by **She Wants Revenge**.
> 
> Come poke me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore)


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